Conquer the Night by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online

violence done her would be swift and terrible. Yet suddenly he reached out to her, taking her arm. She felt the strength and tension in his grip, like the lightning of his eyes. She longed to wrench free, to violently shake off his touch, yet she thought better of it—for the moment, at least.
    â€œHow rude of me. I failed to ask you to join us for dinner.” So saying, he slipped her arm through his own, a hand upon hers as he led her down the hall to the head of the table. “Men, this is the Lady Kyra of Seacairn, daughter of the late Lord Hugh Boniface and Lady Mary MacGregor of Dumferline—now pledged to one English lackey known as Lord Kinsey Darrow. Lady Kyra, you have met young Jay MacDonald; the fine fellows to my left are Nathan Fitzhugh and Patrick MacCullough. There, to my right, Thane MacFadden and Ragnor Grant. Those strapping lads at the rear of the table are Roger Comyn and Hayden MacTiegue.” The men nodded to her as they were introduced. She and Arryn had reached the head of the table. He pulled out one of the heavy, finely carved chairs for her. A hand upon her shoulder, he pushed her down. “Do sit and join us—Lady Kyra.”
    She sat, having no other choice with his hands on her shoulders, aware of the faces staring her way. Arryn did not sit. His booted foot landed upon his chair. His hands left her shoulders, but he remained close, nearly touching her, as he reached for the tankard of ale in front of her. He drank from it, and pressed it toward her. “Drink, Lady Kyra. Drink with us. We were just about to toast our victory here.”
    She ignored the tankard.
    â€œWhere is my priest?” she demanded curtly.
    â€œYour priest, my lady?”
    â€œMy priest. What harm have you done him?”
    One of the men at the end of the table made a snickering sound. She bit her lower lip, trying to keep from bolting in a wild panic and amusing them further, for surely they would attempt to stop her, and the attempt would not be gentle.
    Arryn’s head lowered toward her own. “Surely you are not feeling the need for last rites so soon, my lady?”
    She managed to push back the chair and rise, yet found herself hemmed in by him. Still, she found the courage to speak again. “I demand to know what you have done with him!”
    â€œYou demand?” he inquired, unruffled, only the dark blue eyes so fixedly upon her betraying any inner turmoil.
    â€œAye, sir, I demand to know—”
    His hand landed on her shoulder. “Perhaps, with all in attendance here, I should fully explain your situation. You will make no demands. You—like the hounds by the fire—will receive whatever courtesies and kindnesses we choose to bestow.” He spun her around to see the faces of the warriors in the hall. “Look around you, lady. Every man here had kin at Hawk’s Cairn. You have heard of Hawk’s Cairn? Ancestral manor and estates of my line of the Graham family. Aye, you know what happened; you know it well. We have established that fact already, haven’t we? You say that none of your father’s people here had a part in that barbaric act of inhumanity. But you knew of it, by your own admission. You knew that your betrothed was out riding against the Scots. You didn’t carry a sword into that battle yourself—or did you? God knows, you handle the weight of a weapon with much greater talent than many a poor man sent to his death on a king’s business. It’s no real matter here and now. This stronghold will again be held by Scotsmen.”
    â€œAye!” Roger Comyn shouted.
    â€œRoger is one of the Comyn family, a distant relation to John Balliol—the Scottish king forced by Edward to abdicate, my lady,” Arryn explained.
    â€œSir!” she interrupted. “Horrible events have occurred; aye, there is no denying that. But, you should recall, Edward was brother to Alexander’s first wife, and the great